A journey from more to less.

Author: stconlin
(page 2 of 3)

opcje binarne zyski The number one question I get since moving to Ogden’s 25th street is, “How do you like living downtown?”

http://www.hawkerucc.org/monaxinja/2919 I want to look a them and give them an honest answer but it turns out the answer is a little more complex than, “I like it.” And I’m never quite sure how deep to go into it.

more helpful hints The real answer is, “It is great but also different.” That “different” isn’t always good or bad, just different from things were before and, perhaps, different from I imagined.

rencontre femme grande taille It’s also easy. Very easy. After living in a big house, moving into a smaller, yet fairly good-sized condo, has been a joyous change. The ability to quickly clean and having no lawn has removed so much from the to do list that it is noticeable and freeing.

lieux de rencontre jonzac Going through the act of simplifying has also been an extremely positive action. One of my big fears was “what if I miss some of these things?” I honesty haven’t missed much! Only once have I gone looking for something that I didn’t realize I’d gotten rid of. It wasn’t much an issue and is something that can be replaced very cheaply if needed. Thus far, I haven’t really needed to replace it.

binäre optionen trader kopieren One of the hardest things to get rid of were my books. I really had an attachment to them. After giving them all away, I haven’t really thought about them since. I certainly haven’t missed them. In fact, on a recent trip, I bought a book to read and upon finishing it I immediately gave it away to be read by someone else. It was freeing to know that I’d broken that habit.

pop over here Another big change that I wondered how it was going to work out was the transition of my dog, Charlie, from house living to condo living. From a large yard to run around in to daily walks and urban living. It has been an adjustment – for both of us.

Instead of starting my day by opening the backdoor and letting Charlie go do his business in the yard, I now head out the door with him. I struggle six doors down to the coffee shop with Charlie on a leash. He greets everyone in the coffee shop with a sniff and a tail wag. From there we head out in search of his favorite things to pee on and a patch of grass to poop on. Then I dutifully pick it up in a plastic bag. Downtown living certainly has its less glamorous moments. As I said, it’s different.

All-in-all, Charlie has adjusted fine. It’s helpful that he gets to go to work with me most days. Meeting his needs has me walking like never before and that’s a good thing. Just as I’d needed to shed some material possessions, it is necessary for me to shed some pounds. Walking everyday has started that process. I’m hoping I can continue the trend and shed 20 more pounds in the next 75 days.

One of the unanticipated changes is the fact that there is something going on almost every day. Wether it is music or movies at the amphitheater or a baseball game at Linquist field a block-and-a-half away, it is hard to not get out and participate in some community activity. On Thursday nights Charlie and I walk up to the Oasis Community Garden and listen to music with many of our friends.

We don’t watch TV much anymore. There’s always something else more engaging to do and they all beat mowing the lawn.

There are some things that have changed that aren’t necessarily to the positive.

I now have neighbors. Neighbors that make noise. While for the most part it hasn’t been an issue, it has required me to be tolerant of subwoofer reverberations coming through the wall once in a while.

The walk to the garbage can is long! I used make a 20-foot run to the outside can, now I have to walk almost half a block to the dumpster- nothing to roll out to the street though and I never miss garbage day.

One of the more interesting psychological changes has come from disconnection that I seem to feel from simply living “on the bench” to now living in the midst of many transients and people who seem to be struggling. There are a lot of “street people” on 25th. For the most part it’s not a big deal. Every once in a while someone one down the sidewalk that gives you pause as they are ranting to demons I can’t see but so far there have been no incidents. I most cases I try to offer a “hello” and a friendly face. Sometimes I get the feeling that’s unexpected encounter for them. It’s one of the things I’m still forming thoughts on and will explore more significantly at a later time. I used to just head home to “the nice neighborhood” and could easy forget about the struggles of others. Now they great me on each walk.

So there you have it, that’s how I like living downtown. It is really awesome. A bit different from I might have imagined in some ways and exactly as I though it might be in other ways. I don’t miss my house one bit. I don’t miss things that I’ve gotten rid of and I actually plan to get rid of event more. I have boxes I haven’t really opened since moving. It is pretty apparent I don’t need them. It’s been a good change! Now I’m off to a ball game.

Twenty five years ago when I first came to Ogden, UT, the drive from the Salt Lake City airport to Ogden was a fairly easy drive with added traffic around Farmington and Layton. When done at night, there were few lights between the towns that lined the freeway. When you came to a town you knew it.

Now, as in many metropolitan areas, what used to be open space has been taken up with cookie cutter homes, malls, fast-food and the 35-mile stretch I-15 has turned into a river of steady traffic at all times of the day .

Another thing that has changed is Utah has made major steps in the direction of public transportation. Salt Lake City has rail system called TRAX and a commuter rail line (Frontrunner) runs from Provo to north of Ogden. The commuter rail has a couple stops in Salt Lake and for the most part it is pretty easy to get to place downtown in a reasonable amount of time. As long as your schedule fits the train schedule, it’s a viable option. On April 14, 2013 an airport line opened that now makes the option of rail travel to the airport possible.

I’d new considered taking the train to the airport as I really hadn’t taken the time to learn the logistics, knew I’d have to have someone drop me at the Frontrunner station then arrange for someone to pick me up. I didn’t know how much time it would take to get there, then how long it would be to get home. All-in-all I figured it was just easier to get in the car and get to the airport, pay the $9-a-day for overnight parking, and be in relative control of everything. So the last few trips that is what I’ve done.

But now I live one block from the Frontrunner station so I figured it was time to learn what it would take to do this trip carless. To be honest, it was so much easier than I imagined.

I simply checked out the Frontrunner schedule, figured out that I had to get on the Green line of TRAX at the North Temple station. According to Green Line schedule I’d have to wait about 3 minutes after departing the Frontrunner. Then I’d be on the green line for about 13 minutes to the end of the line at the Airport.

At 6:55 am, with bag in tow, I headed out my door, grabbed a cup of coffee at Grounds for Coffee a few doors down and headed for the train scheduled at 7:09 am. Being my time at this I gave myself a little extra time incase and connections we missed.

Grabbing my $5.50 ticket I jumped on the waiting train and in a few minutes the cars started moving south. After stops to pick up other passengers headed south, we arrived at the North Temple Station at 8:03 am. I disembarked, headed quickly up the escalator and within a minute or so, the Green line train showed up and we were off to the airport. The TRAX line ends at the east end of the terminal number 1. If you are Delta or flying international, it’s a bit of a walk to terminal 2 or 3, but not bad at all.

In all the trip had taken me about 1:20. I figured this was about 10 minutes longer than if I’d driven, parked, waited for and ridden the parking shuttle.

North Temple

The trip home was a reverse of the trip out without the coffee. It also included about a 19 minute wait for the Frontrunner at the North Temple transfer. This made the trip home about 1:40. A long time when you’re ready to be home, but still a pretty easy trip.

When you consider that it saved $56 in parking, I was able to surf the web both ways and didn’t put any miles on the car, the time spent was probably worth it. The novelty certainly was.

It wasn’t one the things I’d really thought about when I moved to a downtown location but having Frontrunner literally three-minute away is something I see myself taking advantage of more than I have in the past. Now I just have to learn how to use the TRAX lines efficiently.

As I’ve mentioned in other posts, I’m walking a lot more now. As part of that I’m getting to know the blocks around Historic 25th much better than I have in the past. One f the places that I’ve long noticed, but never really checked out is the Art House Cinema located at 158 Historic 25th Street.

For over two years I’ve seen it, walked past it, been slightly curious about it and never really understood what was happening there because once I left the street back to my neighborhood it was out-of-sight, out-of-mind. I never paused at it long enough to jot down any info about the films being shown, saw any showtimes, etc.

Now living across the street I’ve taken an interest in the little building that has CINEMA in large black letters across the front of it. A few days ago I dropped in when I noticed human activity just to find out what was going on, when show were, where to learn when show times started and how I could start taking advantage of this unique little feature of my new neighborhood.

From their website: “Art House Cinema is a 28 seat micro-cinema …. showcasing under the radar independent, foreign, and documentary film gems.”

Joel Layton – Proprietor

After chatting with proprietor Joel Layton I learned couple really cool things about the operation of the theater. One, he gave me free popcorn! Try getting that at the megaplex. Two, they rotate through about 10 films a month. Most days you can catch a showtime of two or three films.

For instance, right now they are showing NO GOD, NO MASTER a historical drama set in 1919 about a period of time when a series of bombings rocked New York City. Also showing is THE GALAPAGOS AFFAIR: SATAN CAME TO EDEN a documentary portrait of a 1930’s murder mystery. Finally is UNDER THE SKIN a supposedly strange movie starring Scarlett Johansson.

Another little tidbit I learned is that for $300 for the year, you can have a pass to that allows you to attend any movie any time and have one private party for 27 other of your friends to fill up the seats of the tiny theater.

It is a unique experience watching a film in the small space. The brick walls helped to add to the period feel of No God, No master. The seats, while vintage from 1938, were comfy. The screen was smaller than we’ve grown used to, but the sound was excellent.

The Art House Cinema is a little-known jewel of Ogden and it took me living across the street to discover it. Hopefully this post will encourage you to wander down and check it out. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

Moving out of the big house with a good size yard did change one critical part of my life. When living in the house, Charlie, my 13-year-old mutt, was able to hang out in the yard whenever I left. At night all he had to do was walk over to the door and stand, knowing I’d eventually notice and let him outside to do his business. In the morning, the first thing I’d do when we woke up would be to let him out, fill is food bowl, and often, I’d climb back into bed as he seemed to like to wake up with the sun no matter how late I’d been out the night before. He could then chill in the back yard, bark at squirrel or even once in a while play games with the magpies that would fly through teasing him.

All of that has changed.

Now we have developed new rituals over the last week. Now, the first thing I do in the morning is go for a walk. We’ve developed a nice little downtown loop that offers Charlie many things to sniff, grass to walk on and lots of things to lift his leg upon. I don’t know how dogs do it, but they seem to keep just enough pee handy to piss on about 10 things after they’ve had the serious relieving of themselves.

At night we do the same thing. My last activity, whether it is 10 pm or 1:30 am is a lap around the block. It is actually quite enjoyable and, while it is not strenuous exercise, it is more than I got by simply opening a door.

We’ve also taken to walking to work every day where he gets to hang out. It’s about .8 of a mile each way through pretty sketchy neighborhood. Charlie is a very friendly and social dog and is met with smiles most of the way. At 13, I think he’s spent plenty of lonely days just hanging out in the backyard listening for the car to come down the driveway. I don’t know how many more years he’s got in him, but I hoping he gets to spend most of that time with people rather than waiting for me to get home.

You never know what a dog is thinking, but I think he’s liking the change.

As the first evening sun began to set, I opened the french doors of the new place and the sounds of Robbie Kapp playing harmonica at the Lighthouse Lounge drifted across 25th street filling my living room with Sunday afternoon blues. It was surprisingly loud, yet welcomed.

I started this blog with a full house and a full garage. (see original post) Now the said house is empty and left behind for a new family to fill up. And the garage, well, 99.9 % of the belongs I had are gone.

Through the process of selling, giving away stuff and throwing things in garbage I’ve squeezed five bedrooms and a two-car garage into a two-bedroom, no-car garage condo.

Four trips to St. Anne’s homeless shelter. Two trips to Deseret Industries charities. Three trips to the waste transfer station. Multiple trips to friend’s houses with items. So on and so forth.

Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t minimized. I have simplified. I still have a lot of stuff, it seems.

I have sore legs from climbing stairs while moving it all in to prove it. Lesson learned: Don’t pack the ibuprofen too early in the move. I would estimate I have gotten rid of about 65% of my possessions. Including about 75% of my clothes. I have also learned that 35% of a lot of stuff is still quite a bit of boxes and furniture.

I’m still settling, but I have to admit, the transition feels weird. Not bad, just weird. I feel like I’m on vacation.

Houses on the walk to the office.

I am able to walk to the restaurants I used to have to find a parking space to go to. My office is a quick 15 minute walk away. People yell at me from the sidewalk and I’m able to go down a flight of stairs, cross the street and have a beer with them. It’s almost like being in a hotel that has a bar in a lobby. I promise I have had to walk further in Las Vegas to get a beer. Fresh coffee in six doors down. People stream through on their way to bikram yoga above the coffee shop. In the evening people lazily wander down the street, sometime there’s a hoot or holler of someone letting loose.

Evening is the best. The sun transitions to neon lights, couples wander the street and, this week, the cool, evening air flows through the doors and windows. Sometimes people crazily pound on the piano that resides on the sidewalk across the street, other times you hear someone thoughtful playing a tune.

Most of the noise are fine. I can close the windows and all but the loudest of them go away at anytime.

It’s an interesting change and I’m curious to find out how long it takes for it to feel normal. Perhaps once I get rid of all the boxes and all remaining boxed things are in their places … r gone.

Speaking of things. I am going to do my best to keep simplifying. I’m not sure I’m going to reach the point of being a minimalist, but over the next couple of months I want to try to get rid of at least one thing each day. That should be easy over the next few days as I unpack things. I have yet to decide what today’s discarded thing will be, but I have a feeling it will be something, or a lot of things, from the box labeled “bathroom.”

This task will probably a little harder once I feel settled. but right now I’m still pissed from carrying it all up the stairs!

Over the last couple of weeks I’ve had a several people look ask me, “Is everything ok?” “What’s going on?” So on and so forth. I thought it would be good to share the origins of my current mind-set that have actually been in motion for a bit over three years.

My dad in his new wife decided to spend the summer of 2010 traveling the West in their truck and trailer. During their travels they came to Ogden, Utah to visit – twice. During each of their stays their stories of the road and their answers to my questions regarding their experience rattling around my mind. It seemed like such a carefree easy manner in which to live your life.

As my dad and I sat at a campground on the shores of the Great Salt Lake on a cool summer evening with a brilliant red sunset bouncing off of the Wasatch Mountains we chatted about the experiences he had for a large portion of the summer. It seemed to me that he was happier that I ever remembered him being. It was a lovely night and I couldn’t help but think that in their travels my dad, and his wife, had experienced something as lovely nearly every day.

“Dad,” I began my question, “why do you have to wait until you’re 65 to live in a manner that is obviously so enjoyable?” My dad’s expression changed to an almost childlike giddiness and he replied. “You don’t.”

On my 10 mile drive home I thought about the campground hosts who were living in their at the campground for the summer. Rather than residing in their home located eight miles way, they chose to live on the shores of the Great Salt Lake next to a freeway instead of the house that many years prior had represent all of their hopes and dreams for the future. I pondered, “How could that be?” It was on that drive I actually began to formulate a plan that would allow me to make a dramatic change in my own lifestyle.

As I began to consider this plan, I really began to dissect my current situation. In order to get a feel for where I’m coming from and to contrast it with where I am going, allow me to spend a few minutes describing where I found myself at the beginning of this journey.

The best way I can describe where I was in my life is to say that I was doing all the things that I thought I should. Granted being a single guy with no children allowed me options that most 44-year-old guys might not get to consider. Yet upon reflection I would have to say my lifestyle wasn’t all that unpredictable. I would have to say I lived like many single guys would. I owned a motorcycle, a Porsche, a truck, jet skis and a 3500 square-foot home. My home had more than enough room for me and my dog Charlie. We had two rooms with nothing in them. Yet somehow I managed to justify the need for six flat-screen television sets throughout the house. Charlie didn’t even watch TV. I was definitely a consumer. I like to buy things and I liked to buy the best. The person who came up with the name Best Buy definitely had me in mind.

Before I get too deep into this I want to be clear that this isn’t the story about someone who woke up one day and looked around and saw all the things they had yet was still unhappy. I’m not even sure that this is a story about happiness. I can honestly say that I enjoyed having things. I enjoyed being able to go into six different rooms and watch TV. I enjoy movies on demand in the theater room. Driving a Porsche is fun. Jet skiing on the lake after work was quite enjoyable. Cooking dinner on a Wolf commercial grade stove is a much better experience than using a hot plate. I’m not here to say that having things or having toys is a bad thing.

What I’m examining is the difference in lifestyle that your choices bring when you decide to let go of things. I’ll never tell one that their possessions are bad, I’m a firm believer that there’s nothing inherently good or bad about anything – especially physical objects. It’s our reaction to those items and how we let them affect us in our daily lives that truly make the difference.

For instance if one chooses to simplify their life chances are they are not going to get rid of all possessions. They are going to hold on to something. Whether it be clothing, a book, toothbrush or car, they are keeping something. That is their choice. If someone chose to simplify to the point of living in 1000 ft.² home over a 5000 ft.² home or someone else decides to live in a 500 square-foot home I see nothing inherently better in either choice.

The decision is theirs and how it works in their life. What makes it good or bad is how well it is working for them. Someone could choose one book over another to keep as a possession. One might say the Bible is better than Moby Dick. Another might say they’re both fiction. Yet a third person might say they are just paper with ink bound together because that person can’t read and they need it for toilet paper.

My point is this: I am not doing any of this to make a judgmental statement about the choices that everyone else makes. It is up to them, and you, to make up minds about what is necessary.

I’ll be the first to admit that being single with no children gives me the opportunity to explore this dramatic shift in a way that many people could not. The choices others have made may have created situations that require them to take consideration of many others in a manner that I don’t have to.

My goal is to let you know how my choices affect me and what it might mean to you as you make choices in the future. I feel lucky to be able to add this exercise as one of the life experiences that I can add to my list of experiences. One day I’ll probably look at friend and say, “Remember that year I got rid of all my stuff? That was pretty crazy huh?”

God bless my friends. First of all Brooke Wadman who was kind enough to come help me out with my sale! She ran the inside while I worked the garage.

This set up was great because items of most sentimental value probably resided in the house. Her being detached a bit more from the items than I would have been probably served me well. She did get upset with me for selling a chair too cheaply though! I’ve known and worked with Brooke for many, many years and over those years she’s become like family. Having her there to help out was perfect and so much appreciated.

It was amusing through the day as people who would come out the garage to “check” on me to make sure I was “ok” as stuff was leaving my house. I was. I kept reminding them that I was doing this by choice and that every item that left the property was actually making me increasingly happy. It was uplifting to know they cared, but also reassuring that I’m going the right direction.

It was also work. A long, tiring day. I will try to remember this day each and every time I consider buying something. I don’t look forward to repeating the process. I’m thinking once I am in the new pad, I’m going to implement a “new item in, old item out policy.” It will be interesting to see if I can do it. It will make me think about the items I own and the value they bring to my life. The goal will to be to only have items of high value. Judging from what I have left from my yard sale, I’ll have some low value things left that can be traded up.

Oh yeah, and thanks to Melody Pulisipher who actually brought something to the garage sale! The mid-day margaritas were perfect fuel for the last couple of hours. Enjoy your PIMP glass Melody!

If you are one of the folks who came by and bought something, thanks for being part of my journey.

Growing up in a very small town in Northern Minnesota from the age of eight until halfway through my 15th year, has proven to be a time I developed a lot of habits.

One of the things that living in a small town on the shore of Lake Superior afforded me was the freedom to roam around at what I think would be considered a very young age now.

For one thing, we walked to school. From 3rd grade through high school. It snowed like a christmas snow globe but was only uphill one way. Walking to school gave us the freedom to wander through the woods, play in the creek, sneak down alleyways, etc. as long as we made it home in a reasonable amount of time.

Then I was in the door, yelling, “Mom I’m going down to the Johnson’s!” or “Mom, I’m going across the street to play football!” With a crack of the screen door slamming behind me, I was off – only required to be home for dinner or darkness depending on the time of year.

Many of my friends families had snowmobiles and I have fond memories of hoping on the back and being gone for hours on the snowmobile trails that ran through the forests. It was an ideal place as kid who had a license to roam. With the exception of sub-zero temperatures from Christmas through St. Patrick’s day, it really couldn’t have been a better place to grow up.

I’m not sure if it was the cold temperatures or what that seemed to keep beer cans preserved in nice little piles throughout the Superior National Forest, but they were easy to fin Beer can collecting became a favorite pastimes of me and my friends.

As a kid I wondered, “How the heck did all of these piles get made of tens if not hundreds of beer cans the forest?”

In my head, I’d imagine a group of people sitting out in the woods drinking beer and building a nice little pile of empties. I mean, that’s what happened at our house when beer drinking was taking place. I’ve since gotten a little smarter and realized these were just little garbage dumps. They where all over the place. We’d be on a little adventure and find a place to cut off the trail that looked promising and search around and inevitably we’d find a pile of cans. The same thing with old abandon structures.

.After going through the rusted cans on top we’d sometimes find something we’d never seen before or a better conditioned can that a previous find. Or perhaps a different design of a Pabst Blue Ribbon, or a Schimdt with a fish flying across it. There were 100’s of different brands, Hamm’s, Schlitz, Grain Belt, Stroh, Pfeiffer, Fitgers, Andy’s Beer, North Star, Goetz, Old Milwaukee, Schells, Olde English, etc. Just to name a few. Not only where there many brands to be discovered, but many of them had many redesigns on their packaging. PBR cans have changed a lot over the years. Google it.

Now that I live in Ogden, I often wonder if we found the long-gone Becker’s Best that was made here. I can’t say for sure.

My parents wouldn’t let me keep the old cans in our house, but my friend Steve Johnson lived 3 doors down and his parents were fine with it and in his room will filled one of the wall solid with the finds we’d made. It was quite the collection that I wish I had a picture of, but it looked a lot like this:

Example, not my image.

The whole exercise was as much about the adventure and discovery as it was collecting beer cans and every abandoned shack or old campsite became exciting. My guess is we were probably in 5th or 6th grade.

Somewhere along the line, as an adult, I started bringing full beer cans back from overseas trips and buying shot glasses to commemorate my visits to touristy destinations. I have about 25 shot glasses that I rarely use, they aren’t on display or anything. They just sit in a cabinet much like the beer cans at the beginning of the post. Still unopened and unused.

I’ve come to learn that collections of stuff mean very little to me. I appreciate the memories, but as time goes by, the actual item has very little specific value to me.

Sure, it’s great to have a shot glass around when you need it (which is quite rare in my house). Unopened cans of beer that are 20+ years old, that’s certainly questionable – as is my desire to open it and try one now. It’s easy to see how clutter builds up when you act as if your memories are tied to objects. As I’ve mentioned before, they serve as great memory joggers for me, but even that become less effective. Besides, who need to live in the past.

Maybe I can coax one of my younger friends into trying one of these beers and then after that send them on a beer run for something a bit fresher.

I’ve been away from posting for a bit as I’ve been busy getting rid of things! It turns out that lightening up requires a bit of heavy lifting.

Over the past five days I’ve taken boxes of the few things I plan to hang on to into the new pad. Climbing to the third floor with boxes of CDs and photos to be scanned at a later date proved to be a lot of work.

The boxes of clothes and other things hauled to Deseret Industries, a local charity, seemed light as a feather. Not only did the boxes seem light in comparison to the densely packed boxes carried up the stairs, but the feeling after dropping them off lightened my spirits. The feeling of progress, of less stuff, of not missing anything was, to a degree, freeing. The stuff I’ve thrown in the garbage over the last few weeks has felt the same. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter to me where it goes, it’s just good to be gone.

Right now with all that I have left I am trying to access each item’s potential value to someone else. Would someone pay for it? Quickly? Or is it better to just donate it and let someone else make some money from it? Or is it best just best to be thrown out and not dealt with.

For one group of boxes there was no debating. My past client files all needed to be destroyed in a secure manner. To make this fun, I thought, why not have a bonfire and burn file after file after file. Well take it from me, two-inch thick files of bound paper does not burn as easily as one might imagine. The work to continually stir a blazing hot fire to get all of the pages of paper to separate so they would burn proved to be too much. After burning about eight 35-pound boxes in four hours, I was forced to give up.

The next morning I load the 17 remaining boxes and headed to the shredder. A fine surprise for the pregnant woman at the little shredding office first thing Monday morning. After unloading 658 pounds of paper and writing a nice little check, I headed back to my house a little bit lighter than I’d been a few hours before.

A couple of hours later, someone came for some of my furniture. Ah momentum!

Hopefully the garage sale this weekend will make the rest of the sorting easy. People will buy what is of value to them, the rest will be taken to Deseret Industries or go into the garbage.

I’m glad I’m being forced by the calendar to take action quickly. I think the desire to accumulate is so strong that without a firm date to have to have all of this wrapped up by, I’d lose the momentum that I’ve had over the last couple weeks. It would be easy to straighten up and continue the same path I’ve been on for so many years. It all started when I bought a house, but I’ll get into that later. Back to sorting.

My life seems full of boxes right now. The living room is full of them. The garage is full of them. I even had a box salesperson visit me at the office today to sell me more boxes.

It’s a common mantra to “think outside the box.”

Boxes, boxes, boxes.

With all of the boxes around, including the one that we kind of define our existence with, i.e., this is my family, this is my town, this my religion, etc., there’s one box that I find myself thinking about more and more. It’s not the one full of beer.

It’s the one that will be in the closet of some relative long after you’re gone. The one that they pull out every ten years or so to remember who you were. The one that has perhaps a trinket that meant something to you so therefore they hang on to it as some sort of talisman that somehow continues to keep you connected to them. Like physical objects have some sort of magical power. They sure have a hold on us, but I’m unsure of any magic.

About a year ago I was sitting in a farm-house in the Midwest and a friend pulled out the “box” of her recently deceased grandmother. A woman who was, by all accounts, a hard-working staunch catholic woman you’d expect to find in the rural farm land of Missouri. As my friend pulled out items one-by-one from the box – there were letters, paperwork, cash among other things – I was astonished to think about who little meaning there was in these items.

Now to be honest, I don’t know what went to other relatives and I don’t know if there were more items in a different closet or anything of that nature.

What I do know is that I left that event with two thoughts:

What the hell is going to be in my box. What will people want to hold on to remember me when I’m gone. Should they hold on to anything. Will it just another box filling up there lives?

Secondly, the legacy of this woman was so much more. It was the family that was kind enough to let me stay with them for a night when I was sort of stranded. It was amazing talents of my friend that was going through the box. It was the grandchildren that sat there interested but not really understanding what that box represented and not knowing they were there because of the woman, not the things.

I left that farm-house with the thought that, I don’t wan to be remembered by stuff in a box pulled out every so often to remind people I was here.

I want to be remembered because I was here, not because of items I left behind. Some people do that through family; others through deeds. I’m still working to find my way, as I believe we all are.